


sunrise

by c_acoethes



Series: one hundred lifetimes [2]
Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, M/M, Painter!Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 11:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17621402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c_acoethes/pseuds/c_acoethes
Summary: The face of a man laid before Loki again, a man he didn't know but could draw with his eyes closed.The man.Him.





	sunrise

_Draw a line here, and there, and then..._

Loki wondered what it meant.

He frowned.

The same face, over and over again, etched in charcoal on paper and bearing a resemblance to no proper person he knew of.

It had started a little after Christmas, just as the days died in the arms of snow and the new year was rolling over. Loki had thought it a coincidence or a funny artistic incident until the same situation kept happening every week, every two days until it became every day.

It had happened twice, on that particular day.

The face of a man laid before Loki again, a man he didn't know but could draw with his eyes closed.

The man.

_Him._

Could it be some kind of witchcraft? Loki didn't believe in these things and didn't want his mind to wander to these lands. But what else could explain how he could draw someone so precisely without ever having met them? Why would his brain go for this specific pose, this specific man in all his golden glory when all he had before his eyes was void and air?

It annoyed him to no end.

It even felt like Loki had no control over his fingers, some days, and that the charcoal he used for his sketches found its own way on paper to keep drawing this mysterious figure and his silky locks, his lively eyes and full lips.

Loki tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips.

"What are you trying to tell me?" he asked out loud. "What is it about this man—"

"My lord?"

Loki startled.

"What is it, Fandral?"

The man cleared his throat. "The King, my lord. He is asking for you."

Another frown creased Loki's brows. He pushed the sketch before him, leaving smudges of black in the left corner of the paper.

"Why is he asking for me?" he asked defensively.

"I have no idea, sir. Perhaps he wishes for a portrait?"

Loki chuckled. "A portrait from me? Fandral, don't be ridiculous. The King would never ask an artist like me to take over such a task—he has plenty of suitors on that side."

"My lord, he did ask for _you_ specifically," Fandral pushed again, even though he hated confronting his master. He pulled a creamy envelope from his jacket and unwrapped it. "A note from the castle was left at our doorstep this very morning."

Loki arched an eyebrow. The King himself had him delivered an official note to his own house?

He couldn't wrap his head around the very idea that King Odin would go to such lengths for him, Loki Laufeyson, a modest—yet not unskilled—landscape painter making a decent living out of dawns and sunsets, snow sleeping in the curve of hills and rain licking the edges of roofs. Odin’s Court wasn’t short of talented painters and artists, thus the fact that the King would even know who Loki was made him both excited and anxious.

What if he had only heard of Loki because of his father and the curse his actions had laid upon Loki’s family?

Loki kept away from portraiture for a reason, only taking on landscapes or still life works for the sake of staying in the most common of genres—having the Court turn its eyes on him now could either be a curse or a blessing, his making or his downfall.

Burying a trembling hand in his hair, Loki sighed and waved to Fandral. “Show me the note. And bring me a cup of tea.”

* * *

_I expect you at once_ , the letter said, _regarding some important matter._

Loki stared at the wall as the words rang in his head, a slight frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows.

Everything felt foreign in there—those were not his tools and canvases but mandated things gathered by the Court for him

_At once._ He came the very next day on his own horse, declining politely the royal cortege the King was offering him to escort him to the castle. The less exposed he was, the better it would be.

The door drew open, and Loki raised his eyes from the paints he was examining.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Thor of Asgard,” the valet announced.

Loki bowed his head. “Your Highness,” he said, as Thor entered the studio and walked up to the window to appreciate the view.

“I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Laufeyson,” Thor said gently, golden locks shining in the morning light, a furtive detail Loki noticed as he looked up before he averted his eyes again. “My father only has praise in regards of your work.”

Loki smiled, cheeks flushing despite himself, his eyes still stuck to the ground. “Is that so? I am flattered beyond words, your Highness.”

Thor laughed, the sound startling and so loud in Loki’s ears.

“He is particularly fond of the way you paint mountains. They seem… very much alive,” Thor murmured.

Loki saw his shadow leaning forward to grab the half-full glass of water on the table. He nodded and folded his hands behind his back, head still bowed; it surprised him that someone as important as King Odin knew of Loki and even bothered to seek him out for a portrait.

Thor turned around, eyes landing on him, and grinned.

“Sir, are you shy?”

Loki arched an eyebrow.

“Shy, your Highness?” he replied.

Thor tilted his head and grinned harder. “You keep avoiding my gaze.”

Loki licked his lips, smiled. “It is but mere manners, your Highness.”

“But how are you going to paint my portrait if you do not look at me?” Thor said in an amused voice.

Loki didn’t know what to say and just stared at the floor before him, light moving across the old parquetry.

There was something holding him back, something whispering in his ear not to look. He didn’t know how or why, but it was there. At the same time, however, there was a pull, a call to take the Prince in all his glory.

After a few moments, Thor sighed. Slowly, Loki raised his gaze slightly and saw the Prince lean back against the wall behind him as if wanting to phase through it, his hair falling on his shoulders in rivers of gold.

“Is it that you are afraid, perhaps?” he asked quietly.

_Afraid? I am not. Should I be? I have no idea what I am doing here._

“Your Highness, I told you as much already—I am just being polite,” Loki said with an edge to his voice. “Please do not mistake manners for fear.”

“If fear doesn’t drive your eyes, you should look up, then,” Thor replied.

The Prince was tensing up, Loki felt, as he heard his fingertips run along the table in a disorganised rhythm. “My father commissioned you for a portrait of his son, not for an epic composition of the intricate curves of the wooden floor.”

And laughter, again, on both sides.

Loki knew, at that moment, that there was no escaping it—knew that with a certainty he didn't know he was capable of anymore.

The pull, again, sank its teeth into his skin.

_Face it._

The tension that Loki had felt ringing through his body all day dropped at once when he eventually allowed himself to look up at the man before him.

“There,” Thor said, smiling, face open and warm, clearer than the summer sky. “Easier that way, don’t you think?”

Loki lost balance, barely managing to catch himself before he fell.

The Prince was—

Thor frowned and reached out for the other man.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” he said, looking at Loki’s face with concern. Tears were rolling down his pale cheeks, his mouth slightly opened in worried shock. “Is something wrong? Are you ill from your journey?”

Loki broke away from Thor’s azure gaze, unable to look at him any longer.

Thor was the man whose face found itself in his every painting. That beautiful, wonderful creature, as precious as crystal— _it was him._

The realisation hit Loki as if a thousand bricks had fallen over him.

Light seeped into the studio, golden and iridescent, almost glowing all over them.

The day was finally blooming.

Loki scrubbed at his eyes. He wondered if he was trying to erase something other than tears; anything, _everything_ , or the world itself.

Suddenly, Thor’s fingers skidded along Loki’s cheek, searing like fire, strangely familiar.

It felt like lightning.

“I—your Highness,” Loki croaked out, but Thor was already gathering him in his arms.

Loki tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach, and Thor looked at him as if seeing him clearly for the first time; Loki felt like he couldn’t breathe, a vice-like grip around his lungs, iron and silver and melting glass.

Thor’s lips brushed against Loki’s softly, tasting the salt of tears left there. “I feel it too.”

Loki sighed, eyes closing at the touch.

_God_. The Prince had just tried to kiss him.

It didn’t feel foreign, though. The touch was something Loki was quite sure he had experienced already, his memories stumbling and kicking around in his head.

“The pull?” he said, pushing them away.

Thor nodded. “And you appeared—you _came_ to me. In dreams. In my writings.”

A strangled noise escaped Loki, and he found himself half laughing and half crying, and so happy he didn’t know what to do.

“What is it?” Thor asked, confused, hurt shining around the edges of his voice.

“Your Highness—”

“Drop the title,” Thor said suddenly. His fingers tightened around Loki’s waist. “I despise it. Please.”

Loki paused, mouth slightly ajar, and shivered in the embrace.

“Your Highness— _Thor_ ,” Loki started, pausing again and licking his lips. “ _You_ came to me in _my paintings._ ”

There was nothing coming out of his mouth for a long while, and nothing out of Thor’s either.

And then, Thor burst out laughing, pulling away a little and breaking the cloying silence between them.

Loki bit his lower lip awkwardly, his fear pressed into his side. Thor wiped a tear off his eye with the back of his hand and curled it around Loki’s cheek, eyes crinkling with tender warmth.

“It all falls into place, as my mother predicted. She told me all these stories of mountains and lands and finding the missing pieces over and over again when I was but a mere child.” He took a deep breath, stared into Loki’s green eyes—an ocean. “You are the missing piece I have been looking for, Loki.”

He saw, _felt_ Thor smile; not from the curve of his lips, but from the press of his fingers along Loki’s spine, from the way he breathed in and out and cherished the name in his mouth.

Loki pressed his face against Thor’s collarbone and blinked away the unshed tears that were stinging his eyes. Everything falling into place. His paintings, the sketches, the way his hand had found Thor’s lines without even seeing him before—

“Don’t cry,” Thor’s voice came through his thoughts, a gentle hand curling around Loki’s chin to bring it back up. Thor was still smiling, tender and sincere. “We found each other again.”

Cupping the back of Loki’s head, he leant in to kiss him, and Loki’s stomach uncurled, butterflies buzzing loudly, mint and jasmine brushing the back of his throat.

The kiss tasted like old memories and bitter wine and Thor kissed him fiercely, as if the following day would never come, kissed him as if to breathe Loki inside him. Loki closed his eyes and sighed happily against his rough lips, brushing a hand behind him to run his fingers in Thor’s smooth curls. His hand lingered, his thumb tracing an aimless path along Thor’s hair.

“We should get started,” Thor mumbled as he eventually broke off the kiss, much to Loki’s dismay, which Thor soothed immediately with a slight press of lips against his. “Not because I am not enjoying this, but my father needs to see progress.”

A grin, and Loki shook his head, arms still secured around Thor’s massive body. “We could always make-believe. It is hard being an artist, your Highness. I will need special treatment.”

Thor chuckled. “What if you stayed here and enjoyed a special art residency? You are to paint King Odin’s son, afterall. Expectations are to be met.”

“By meeting by the morning’s light in the studio and seeking complementary work in the quiet of your chambers at night?” Loki asked cheekily.

“I wasn’t aware that artists were able to read minds,” Thor said, running his thumb along the swell of Loki’s bottom lip where it was bruised and red. There was something raw and unfettered in his voice that tugged at Loki’s heart, a swift bloom of heat.

“I cannot read minds, but your soul speaks clear,” Loki replied, smiling.

Outside, the sun shifted, raining in golden sparks of light around them as they kissed again.

**Author's Note:**

> Written by na_shao.


End file.
